


Snips and Snails

by annabagnell



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha John Watson, Alpha/Omega, Birth, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Sherlock, Parentlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 18:45:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9780293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabagnell/pseuds/annabagnell
Summary: John looked at Sherlock narrowly as he sank down with a groan. “You know it’s time,” he said a little accusingly.“I know I was due two days ago and it could be time,” Sherlock said archly, settling in next to John and tugging his oversized shirt down.John pulled a face, grumbling, and settled back into the sofa with his arms crossed. “You’re taking all the fun out of it, you know. All I wanted out of this was to look at you and say ‘is it time?’ and for you to look back and say ‘it’s time.’ Like, proper dramatics, this time, instead of ‘oh. my waters have broken. those must have been contractions.’”“In my defense, I’d never had a baby before, and I’d had enough false alarms that I didn’t want to say anything for fear of being wrong again. Sue me for wanting to be sure.”“Of all the times not to be dramatic - you, the biggest drama queen in all of London -““If you don’t stop, I’ll wait until he’s crowning before I inform you that our second child is on its way,” Sherlock threatened, throwing a look at John.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I'm a real goober and I write something really cute and forget to post it for almost a year. Sorry about that.

“Bag’s ready.” Sherlock lowered himself onto the sofa with a low grunt. “Everything in there that I can think we might need. Spare socks this time, in case he takes after Soren.” The four-year-old sitting next to John reached over to poke Sherlock’s belly with a faux-menacing frown.

 

“Oh, it’ll be a hopeless case either way. He still loses his socks,” John chimed in, and Soren’s poking fingers went after John next. “If this one’s anything like his older brother, he’ll try to lose his nappies, too.” John’s voice gradually went higher as he tried to lean away from their toddler’s tickling digits, and he giggled as he squirmed toward the end of the couch to evade tickling. “Oi! Hey, hey, that’s enough, Mr. Wiggly Fingers!” he said, grasping Soren’s wrists and holding his arms up in the air and away from John’s vulnerable middle. “Daddy’s just making fun. You lost two pairs of socks somehow at hospital, you silly. We’ve no idea where they went.”

 

“Probably under the bed, or they got lost in the wash,” Soren said, settling back in next to Sherlock with a shrug. “Granny says the machine eats them.”

 

“It must only eat yours, Soren, because I haven’t lost a sock in the whole time I’ve lived here,” Sherlock said with a grin. “It must just like the taste of little boy socks.”

 

“Don’t know why,” John said, wrinkling his nose and making a face. “Smelly, smelly feet our Soren has.”

 

“Not my fault,” Soren said, kicking a little. “Just got stinky toes.”

 

“It’s alright. So does your papa, even if he won’t admit it. Sleeps with his socks on.” Sherlock looked up at John with a wry grin and shook his head. Soren looked at John, appalled, and let out the most emphatic ‘ew’ Sherlock had ever heard.

 

“I get cold feet!” John protested, narrowing his eyes. “You two are ganging up on me. Can’t wait for him to get here, then maybe it’ll be more even.” He jabbed a finger toward Sherlock’s belly.

 

Letting out a long sigh through his nose, Sherlock leaned back on the sofa. “I can’t wait for him to get here, either.” He ran one hand over his swollen bump. He wasn’t due for another week - well, six days - but it would be a welcome feeling when labour started. The baby he carried within him was heavy and restless. “Alright. It’s movie night. Soren, get us started.” He urged their son off the sofa to choose a film, and smiled when John slid closer and insinuated an arm behind his back. “Hello there,” he murmured, turning his head to kiss John’s forehead.

 

“Hi.” John tipped his chin up to kiss Sherlock’s jaw. “Everything alright?” He briefly tightened his grip on Sherlock’s side, a reassuring squeeze.

 

Sherlock hummed an affirmative reply. “Tired. Want to meet him.” He patted his belly and leaned a little against John.

 

“Yeah. Me too.” John looked up as Soren put a DVD in the player and searched for the ‘play’ button. “Want you, just one last time tonight. Feel up for it?”

 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and looked at his mate. He made a pensive face and shrugged. “So long as you do all the work, I won’t mind. I don’t feel very attractive at the moment, but-“

 

John cut him off with another kiss, this time to the corner of his mouth. “But you know I never feel that way. I’ll take care of you.” He squeezed Sherlock’s side again and held him close, brushing one more kiss to his jawline.

 

“I know you will,” Sherlock agreed, his expression melting into one of contentment. Soren climbed back onto the sofa, on Sherlock’s other side now, and Sherlock let himself relax into the warmth of his mate and son.

 

 

 

 

The thing about knowing that John wanted to take him to bed was that it wasn’t necessarily distracting, unless John wanted it to be. Every once in awhile during a lull in the film, when John moved or the baby shifted or Soren wiggled, Sherlock would think about what John had said, and he’d be filled with a little warmth. By the end of the movie, any reservations Sherlock had had were long gone, and he let John take a sleepy Soren to his room to give Sherlock time to wind down.

 

The Omega had just gotten nude for the first time in weeks. He was taking a few minutes to look at himself in the mirror, and part of him was amazed that John still wanted him when he looked like this. A belly full and round with their second son, breasts heavy and sagging even more than they had during his first pregnancy. He ran his fingers over some deep stretch marks that had sprouted on his belly.

 

The door opened and John came in, letting out a little laughing breath as he saw Sherlock standing in front of the mirror. Sherlock grinned shyly and rubbed the upper crest of his belly, turning to face John.

 

“Look at you,” the Alpha murmured, stepping forward. His gaze traveled up and down Sherlock’s body, lingering on the fullness of his belly and chest. “Hardly seen any of you the past few weeks. You’ve been hiding.” He closed the distance between himself and Sherlock, palms running flat over his belly and settling on his hips.

 

Sherlock shrugged, letting his head fall forward to rest on John’s shoulder. “Not much to see. Well…more to see than usual, I suppose.” He felt John’s chuckle and smiled.

 

“Love you,” John said, nudging Sherlock toward the bed. When Sherlock’s thighs hit the mattress John stopped them both, stretching up to kiss Sherlock deeply. Sherlock responded in kind, happily returning John’s affections. It was like slipping into a comfortable role - though the sex had never gotten rote, the mechanics were the same as usual and Sherlock found comfort in the eager kisses, the soft noises and familiar touches.

 

Without much conscious effort, Sherlock found himself lying on his side in bed, with John stripping off his clothes and tossing them aside. The Alpha laid behind him and slid a thigh between Sherlock’s legs, using the friction to rub against him. Sherlock let out little gasping noises and ground down on John’s thigh. His movements were shorter and more labored than usual, but John didn’t seem to mind. Before long Sherlock felt the insistent press of John’s cock against his back, then against the curve of his arse, as John gripped what was left of his hips and used the grip as leverage to gain more friction and more contact.

 

Sherlock twisted his upper body and reached out for John, pulling him close and kissing him wetly and open-mouthed. John moaned Sherlock’s name and adjusted their positions, pulling himself half on top of Sherlock and rutting against his hip. His hand slid down between their bodies and wrapped around Sherlock’s cock, pulling him off in short, quick strokes. Sherlock shuddered with pleasure, eyes falling closed, and ground down into John’s touches. “More,” he gasped, breathing too quickly for kissing now.

 

John moved again and deftly slid two fingers into Sherlock’s opening. He was already swollen and sensitive as his body loosened, so there was no pain, only pressure. John’s fingers pushed and prodded until they found Sherlock’s sweet spot. The Omega whined and breathed John’s name again, begging for more.

 

The hand on his cock dragged exquisite pleasure from deep in Sherlock’s body, and with the goading of John’s fingers from inside, Sherlock was wracked with climax within minutes. He shook apart under John’s hands, legs jerking and hips trembling as nerves sparked all the way up his spine.

 

He heard John’s breathy laugh as the roaring in his ears dulled, and reached to pull John against him as his head cleared. “Now you,” he said, grabbing a handful of John’s arse and kneading it as he guided John to rut against the damp crease of his arse. John complied, back rigid and hips rolling, and with a gasp and a familiar shudder, the Alpha came. The warmth of his spend painted Sherlock’s thighs, and he squeezed around the hard length of John’s cock, pulling a few last throbs from the thick organ before John collapsed back against the bed.

 

“You got me sticky,” Sherlock complained, grimacing as he propped himself up on his elbows. “Though, to be fair, I got myself sticky, too. Why am I always the sticky one?” He reached over and took John’s face in his hands, claiming one last kiss.

 

“Just lucky, I guess,” John replied, nipping Sherlock’s lip before pulling back and looking him in the eyes. A little bolt of affection hit Sherlock in the chest as he stared into his mate’s deep blue eyes. “Ha. Love you,” John said, kissing him more gently this time.

 

“Love you, too. Clean me up.” Sherlock sank back onto the pillows, lacing his fingers together over his belly.

 

“As you command, your royal highness,” John said with a grin, and padded off to get washcloths.

 

 

 

 

 

Sherlock was halfway between the kitchen and his chair when he stopped short. Looking slightly alarmed, he laid his hands on both sides of his belly, sliding his palms up and down. John watched, and his heart rate picked up. “Erm…”

 

Sherlock looked up at John, the barest hint of a grin on his face. “Don’t get your hopes up too high.” John’s face fell. “It could be, though. I’ve had a few this morning, but this was stronger than the others. Let’s just wait it out.”

 

“What is it, Daddy?” Soren asked, looking up from his puzzle on the floor.

 

“Nothing to worry about, darling. You’re doing very well with your puzzle,” he said, redirecting. He took a few slow, swaying steps closer to Soren, looking down at the half-finished puzzle on the carpet. “The missing edge piece is just over there.” He pointed at a piece that had gotten kicked off to Soren’s right.

 

“Oh! Thanks, daddy,” Soren said, grabbing the piece and putting it in place. He looked up at Sherlock and beamed. The Omega smiled back and leant down a little to ruffle Soren’s curls, then let out a little sigh and made his way to the couch.

 

John looked at Sherlock narrowly as he sank down with a groan. “You know it’s time,” he said a little accusingly.

 

“I know I was due two days ago and it _could_ be time,” Sherlock said archly, settling in next to John and tugging his oversized shirt down.

 

John pulled a face, grumbling, and settled back into the sofa with his arms crossed. “You’re taking all the fun out of it, you know. All I wanted out of this was to look at you and say ‘is it time?’ and for you to look back and say ‘it’s time.’ Like, proper dramatics, this time, instead of ‘oh. my waters have broken. those must have been contractions.’”

 

“In my defense, I’d never had a baby before, and I’d had enough false alarms that I didn’t want to say anything for fear of being wrong _again._ Sue me for wanting to be sure.”

 

“Of all the times not to be dramatic - _you,_ the biggest drama queen in all of London -“

 

“If you don’t stop, I’ll wait until he’s crowning before I inform you that our second child is on its way,” Sherlock threatened, throwing a look at John.

 

John looked at Sherlock, hair ruffled and fluffy, and looking enormously pregnant, and broke out laughing, shaking his head. “Sorry! Sorry. It’s just really hard to take any threat seriously when you look like a fuzzy kiwi bird.”

 

“Oh, how I wish you’d have kept that thought to yourself,” Sherlock sighed, sliding his hands over his belly. “Turn the telly on. I’m bored, and if this is it we’ve got some waiting to do.”

 

An hour or so later, just as the clock on the wall ticked past 11:05, Sherlock looked over at John and said his mate’s name. John glanced up. “Yes?”

 

Sherlock looked at him. “Are you ready?”

 

John’s heart skipped a beat and he nodded. “Sherlock, is it time?” 

 

Sherlock grinned. “John…I think…it’s time.”

 

John grinned back.

 

 

 

 

It was, indeed, time. Two hours later and Sherlock’s contractions had gotten steadily closer, longer and stronger, and some of the joy had worn off and been replaced by discomfort and pain. He’d forgotten how awful it felt to have a head pressing insistently on his cervix, and how the constant rippling spasms made him nauseous. Nevertheless, as they got ready to leave for the birthing centre, Sherlock got down on his knees and hugged Soren close. “I’ll be home soon,” he assured his son, breathing in the little boy’s unique smell.

 

“And the baby will be here,” Soren replied, smiling at his daddy when he pulled back. Sherlock reached up to brush the blond curls from Soren’s forehead. Their oldest was growing into a handsome young man, with his papa’s eyes and nose and his daddy’s curly hair. “Will you be okay, daddy?” he asked.

 

Sherlock nodded. “I’ll be fine. It hurts now, but when your brother gets here, I won’t hurt anymore.”

 

“Kisses make it better?” Soren asked, and Sherlock smiled and nodded again. Soren leaned forward and kissed Sherlock’s forehead and then planted a smooch on his lips. Sherlock gathered his son close again for a big long hug, and then heaved himself to his feet. He was about to go find John when he felt Soren’s hands on his bump, and he looked down to see the little boy pushing his shirt up over his belly. He stood still and let Soren press kisses all around his bump. “Be good, little brother,” the little boy murmured, and wrapped his little arms around as much of Sherlock’s waist as he could and nuzzled against the swollen belly.

 

“You’re going to be a good big brother,” Sherlock said, his voice thick. Soren looked up, smiling, with John’s big blue eyes twinkling with happiness. “The best big brother he could ask for.”

 

Father and son turned as John entered the room, Soren’s duffel on one shoulder and Sherlock’s hospital bag rolling next to him. “Family hug time, is it?” he asked, and crossed the room to gather their family together in a big, tight hug. “That’s it. We’re going to be just fine, my loves. Let’s get daddy to the doctor to have the baby, alright, Soren?” he asked, ruffling Soren’s messy curls. Soren nodded in agreement, smiling widely, and ran to put on his shoes. John gave Sherlock an extra hug and laid a hand on his low belly. “We’re gonna be just fine.”

 

“I know,” Sherlock replied. “We will be.”

 

 

 

 

 

They dropped Soren off at Uncle Greg’s along the way. The little boy didn’t seem perturbed in the least that his daddy was going off to have the baby, and ran into the house as soon as Greg opened the door. Greg wished them well and sent them off with a smile and a wave, which Sherlock returned tiredly.

 

He was grateful for the wheelchair when they arrived. The ride over had been uncomfortable, and part of him was surprised that his waters hadn’t broken in the cab. He barely made it into the gown and onto the bed before he felt the wetness soak through the cloth and onto the mattress, and held John’s hand tight as he shook through the contraction that had burst the thin membrane. He panted, sweat starting to bead on his brow. “I’ve got you, got you,” John murmured, letting Sherlock squeeze his hand as the spasm rolled through him.

 

A change of sheets and a fresh gown followed quickly. The nurse confirmed he was just past seven centimeters and dilating quickly. Sherlock felt his composure slipping away as the minutes passed, contractions holding him in their grip every five minutes or so. The baby was low, very low, his head pressing against Sherlock’s dilating cervix and making his hips ache badly. He shifted constantly from side to back to his side again, unable to find relief from the pressure.

 

He heard John’s voice at the tail end of a long contraction, and unscrewed his eyes to look up at his mate blearily. John dragged a cool cloth over his forehead, his expression full of love and concern. “You’re doing really well. Would it help if you were on hands and knees?” he asked, and Sherlock didn’t know, but he was reaching out for John’s help getting up before he finished speaking. Just knowing that John was there, helping him, was enough.

 

The world gradually narrowed down to Sherlock’s body, shutting out all the noise and atmosphere around him. All that he knew was the pull, the pain, the ache, and John’s voice and hands on him. He bit out his mate’s name as a fierce contraction dragged him down, and he was barely able to cling onto John’s shoulders. “Got you,” came John’s voice in his ear, and strong arms under his shoulders holding him up.

 

The pressure changed. Dropped. Sherlock let out a harsh noise and bore down, barely aware of the scuffle of movement around him. Someone else’s unfamiliar hands were on his thighs, spreading them wider. Sherlock allowed himself to be moved, too focused on the gradual exit of the baby to protest.

 

He pushed. The heavy body within his body moved downward. He felt the head, the exquisite painful stretch of his flesh yawning wide for the blunt curve to slide out. The burning feeling grew more intense, until it felt like he was being flayed open. The pain plateaued and then faded, and there was a dull cheer ringing through the roaring in his ears. “The head’s out, his head’s out, oh Sherlock,” came John’s voice, thick with tears. Sherlock knew only that he had more work to do, and bore down again.

 

He could feel the gradual turning of the baby’s body, the alignment of its broad shoulders with the widest part of his pelvis. Each push moved that thick body further out of his own. The breaching of the shoulders was the hardest part, and he felt stretched so wide that he’d surely tear. He heard a loud shout and dully realized it was his own voice, harsh. He sucked in a deep breath and tried to keep quiet - he didn’t want his son born into the world only to hear his daddy’s shouting. He bit down on John’s shoulder to muffle his noises, and pushed again.

 

With a sudden, slick rush, he was empty. The longest silence in the world stretched out, Sherlock’s ears ringing, until the room was filled with the sound of a newborn’s cries. Sherlock’s heart started again and fresh tears coursed down his face, and he held out his arms for his baby.

 

John’s smell, and a brand-new but achingly familiar scent, rose to his nostrils as a tiny, slippery weight was laid in his waiting arms. He looked down through oceans of tears to see the wailing creature on his chest, purple and a little bloody and dark-haired. He didn’t know what he said, only that he was speaking, and crying, and that the baby in his arms was perfect.

 

Someone, or several someones, guided him to lay down again, but nobody dared touch the little being that squalled in his arms. They covered him with a towel to keep his tiny body warm, and John’s hands held the towel close and kissed away Sherlock’s tears. Sherlock’s focus widened as the minutes passed and he was aware of being cleaned and IVs being adjusted, and the doctor hovering nearby, waiting to check the baby over. He could hardly bear it, but he let the nurses take his child as the last contractions stuttered their way through his tired body, expelling the placenta and leaving him raw and empty.

 

There was more cleaning, and then John carefully dressed Sherlock’s lower half in thick pads and soft underwear and clean pajamas. Just as he finished, a nurse returned with their second son, clean and dressed in a nappy and green romper. “Both socks on,” Sherlock observed, and John’s smile was radiant.

 

“What’s his name, love?” John murmured, helping settle the baby back in Sherlock’s arms. “I know you’ve been sitting on it for weeks now.”

 

“Reuben,” Sherlock said without pause. “Reuben Thomas.” He ran a finger down the baby’s ruddy cheek, then touched the wispy dark hair on his head. He saw John’s nod of approval out of the corner of his eye.

 

“You did really well. No sign of tearing, which is impressive considering how big he is.” Sherlock looked up inquisitively. “Nine pounds, eight ounces. And you got him out in about twenty minutes of pushing, about fifteen hours of labor total. Depending on when you started counting.” John grinned.

 

“And he’s beautiful,” Sherlock said, “which is the most important thing.” The baby had quieted and was dozing now, sleeping peacefully on Sherlock’s chest.

 

“Yeah,” John agreed. “He really is. If there’s two things you excel at, it’s catching murderers and making bloody gorgeous babies.” He sat on the bed next to Sherlock.

 

“I cannot say I disagree,” Sherlock sighed. “I’m a man of many talents.”

 

 

 

 

Reuben and Sherlock were cleared to go home early the next morning. Sore and tired, Sherlock headed straight for bed when they got back home, and John obliged him by letting Reuben sleep next to him. The plan was for Soren to come back just after lunch, giving Sherlock and John time to settle back in and get some rest.

 

Sherlock awoke from sleep to the sound of excited footsteps in the hallway. Reuben was half awake as Sherlock picked him up, settling him in the crook of his arm just as the door opened. Soren paused in the doorway for a split second, then raced to the edge of the bed to peer up at his daddy and brother. “This is him?” he asked, clearly fighting to keep his hands to himself.

 

“This is your little brother,” Sherlock confirmed. “Did papa tell you his name?”

 

“Reuben?” Soren asked, and Sherlock nodded. “Reuben. Little brother. Can I get up and see him?” he asked, and at Sherlock’s nod the little boy was already scrambling up onto the mattress. Oh…oh, man,” he breathed, looking down at the baby, who was now awake. “Daddy, he’s really little.”

 

Sherlock and John both laughed. “He’s really pretty big, as far as babies go. I’m not sure I would have fit him, if he’d been much bigger. But he’ll grow faster than you’ll ever believe,” Sherlock said, shifting a little to give Soren a better look at his brother.

 

Soren sat back on his heels in contemplation. “He looks good,” he declared after a few moments. “Papa says he looks like you, but he just looks like a baby to me.”

 

Sherlock shrugged a little. “I think he’ll start to look more like a person in a few weeks. He’s not even a day old yet. Give it time.”

 

Soren heaved a big sigh. “Okay.” He sat up a little, looking Reuben over again. “Can I give him a kiss?”

 

“That you can do,” John said, stepping closer to the bed to watch.

 

Soren looked at his papa, then his daddy, and then his little brother, then carefully leaned over to press a feather-light kiss on the baby’s forehead. Reuben wrinkled his nose and let out a milky huff, and Soren erupted into a peal of laughter. “Hi, Reuben,” he said, giggling and settling down next to Sherlock. The Omega looped his arm around Soren’s shoulders, holding him close.

 

“Do you think he’s an alright addition?” Sherlock asked teasingly. “I’m not sure we can take him back if you don’t like him.”

 

“No, I think he’s good. We can keep him,” Soren decided, reaching out to touch Reuben’s outstretched hand.

 

“Whoo. What a relief. I was concerned we’d have to send him back if you didn’t like him,” John said, ruffling Soren’s hair. “Daddy and I like him too.” Soren just smiled and nodded, and leaned closer to Sherlock. John sat down next to the whole group, kissing his firstborn’s head and Sherlock’s in turn.

 

Sherlock fell asleep first, quickly followed by Reuben. Soren, his curiosity sated, dropped off into a nap leaning against Sherlock. John, after a moment’s contemplation, pulled a blanket over the whole group of them and joined his beautiful family in sleep.


End file.
